


The Game

by dfqwasthat



Series: Newtmas - The Game [1]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Boys In Love, Character Death, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of blood, newtmas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:16:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dfqwasthat/pseuds/dfqwasthat
Summary: Thomas wakes up in a car and doesn't remember anything about himself. He is brought to a mansion where someone is playing a twisted, sadistic game with him and six other boys -  making them solve riddles and tests in order to stay alive. Is Thomas the key to their freedom?





	1. A Mansion

The first thought he had when he woke up was _bright. Too fucking bright._ He felt a bit sick and the back of his neck ached like it had never before. The light felt like it was trying to burn his eyes out - so much so that he barely registered the bumping beneath him. Was he in a car or was his head just spinning so much it felt like it?

He growled, grabbing his head. He hoped – prayed – that rubbing his eyes would help. It didnt. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._ His fingers felt like sandpaper against the sensitive skin of his face. Searing hot pain rang through his body every time he opened his eyes. It wasn’t the sun. It couldn’t have been. It felt like fire straight from hell. It consumed his every thought, every muscle, nerve, cell.

Just when his ears started to ring it became dark. The pain settled – even when his eyes were open – leaving nothing but panic. He was, indeed, in a car. There was a moody purple light above him, allowing him to see the interior of it, but he couldn’t see anything out the windows. The black screen between him and whoever was driving the car was up. “Hey! Hey, where am I?” he yelled again and again and again, but noone answered. “Can you hear me? Where am I? What is this?”

He tried to remember getting into the car or falling asleep in it. Nothing. He tried to remember anything before this exact moment. Nothing. He tried to remember his family or his name. Nothing.

It was pitch black and he was freaking out. The only sound being his own hyperventilation really did not help him calm down.

The vehicle slowly came to a stop and he could hear the doors being unlocked. He stayed frozen for seconds, if not minutes, just sat there, contemplaiting whether stepping outside was a smart idea. He could try going for the driver’s door if he was quick enough, but what if there was someone – something – waiting outside? His fingers twitched above the handle, landing back on his lap. _What the hell is going on?_ Realising the car wasn’t going anywhere unless he gets out of it, he held his breath and opened the door.

Nothing. Nothing but darkness. A black void all around him.

The engine turned back on, scaring him, making him pull his head to his chest instinctively. For some reason he felt stupid for getting so jumpy and was glad no one could see him. Releasing his own head from the death grip, ho looked around once more. It was then that a light on a wall just inches from his face was switched on. If he’d had his little freak-out just a bit to the left, his face would be smashed against a concrete wall... or the steel door just below the light.

He turned around, taking in his surroundings, trying to make out anything other than the illuminated doorway he was obviously meant to go through. It must have been a long tunnel, but now that the car was gone it was completely dark again. He was alone again.

An unpleasant feeling – one that a person gets when they don’t know what’s behind them – ran through him like cold wave, making the decision of opening the mysterious door for him.

He had no clue of what to expect from the other side, a feeling of dread and anxiousness mixing with excitement. Adrenaline was pumping in his veins, blood was pounding in his ears. He was scared, but ready. He had nothing to defend himself with, but this time he was ready not to act like a wuss unlike he had a minute ago.

The steel door lead to a circular, dimly lit room. It was colder than the tunnel and somehow seemed even more grim. He wanted to leave it emmediately. It felt as if it had all the air sucked out of it. He couldn’t make himself move from the doorway. The floor looked stained and dirty and he found himself hoping it wasn’t blood. There was a brown wooden door on the opposite wall of where he was standing and the second he noticed it he went for it without thinking.

“Well, well, well,” a rather loud voice said when he’d rushed in and slammed the wooden door behind himself loudly, “welcome, Greenie, you’re just in time for dinner.”

He wasn’t looking around to find which one of the young men was speaking to him. He didn’t register much after seeing them all in tuxedos. _What sort of twisted murder-mystery gentelmen’s club bullshit is this?_ He managed to think to himself before running off further into the mansion. _Mansion?_ The others were cheering and laughing, their claps echoing through the large hall. He noticed an immense staircase and set to running up it, but tripped three steps along the way.

The laughter erupted into a much louder, almost psychotic spectacle, now accompanied by woohoos and whistles as Thomas’ face hit the marble floor, its cool surface overpowering the throbbing on his cheek from the impact.

“Nice try,” someone said, pulling him up by the back of his shirt and placing him in an upwards direction, “but there’s no way out of here,” the voice sounded almost evil, its owner’s face even more so – his eyebrows determined and kind of mocking, clearly the dominating aspect of his face.

The other boy dragged him upstairs and down a corridor to a beautiful bedroom (there was no doubt – this was one hell of a mansion) with a king-sized bed and champagne-colored bedding and drapes. It was fit for a king and for some reason he was now on the floor of it, finally let go of, able to breathe again.

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t get cocky,” the mean guy said, looking around the room, “we all got one just as royal as this,” he seemed to have calmed down, “put the schmancy suit on, otherwise we don’t get fed,” he added quickly before leaving.

The slam of the door made him jump again and he scolded himself, _what happened to being ready?_ He got up and looked around the room again. The silence was almost painfully loud, the room –  insanely still.

 He walked over to the drawn curtains, their champagne color glowing in the warm yellow of the chandelier. He opened them expecting to find a view. A night’s sky, a courtyard, a pool, anything. But no. He felt confused and betrayed, not to mention stupid. Like he’d have the luck of just jumping out of a window? No, all he got was a wall. A goddamn solid fucking wall.

He ran out the door, confused and still a bit hazed from the fall, to find another boy coming out of the door next to his. He was wearing a dashing tuxedo and an even more dashing smile, “you must be the newbie,” he stated, his smile disappearing emmediately, “I’m sorry.” _British?_

“For what?” his voice was hoarse and broaken. The other boy just smiled sadly and looked down. _Is he a prisoner too? Am I?_

“I suggest keeping the curtains drawn unless you want to go insane looking at a wall,” he said, fixing his cuffs, “oh, and please do put the suit on, they don’t give us dinner, if we don’t comply. Trust me, I’m not happy about this thing either,” he gestured at his perfect suit, rolling his eyes, but the newbie couldn’t possibly imagine why – the boy looked incredible.

He watched the taller boy walk downstairs, hearing a muffled “evening, boys,” in his debonair accent.

He didn’t want to have to run or be pushed or shoved again, so he just put the damn suit on (it fit like a glove, as if it had been measured just for him) and walked downstairs to join the other boys, “took you long enough,” the Eyebrows muttered, leaning against a doorframe. There were seven of them altogether. The second their so-called Greenie stepped off the last step a loud clicking sound resonated throughout the hall, announcing a door being unlocked.

“Finally,” an asian boy said, rubbing his hands and opening a door they were all standing next to, “I’m starved.”

The newbie didn’t know what to make of all this. What was he doing here? What were the others? Was this some sick, twisted game? And if so then what was the reason for their being here? There were surely others outside the walls of this house (not that he could be sure as he didn’t remember anything prior to the car ride), so why was it them? What made them so special?

“Aren’t you coming?” a friendly-looking guy offered the newbie who was still standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“What is this place?” he demanded in return, fully aware of how miserable he sounded, afraid to look up.

“Let us explain to you over the most sadistic dinner of your life,” he came over and put his arm around the newbie’s shoulder, leading him into the dramatically lavish dining room, “I’m Alby, by the way, and I’m very sorry.”


	2. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas finds out the morbid truth about his new living arrangements.

He wished he could answer with his own name, but not only did he not remember it, he also didn’t really want to speak, he wanted to cry and hide and wake up from this weird fucking dream. He was so confused it almost felt frustrating.

There were place cards next to every place setting but all the others seemed to know exactly where to sit. The newbie’s eyes slid over every detail – the lilly-patterned wallpaper, the decorated legs of the shiny wooden table, the seven heavy chairs placed around it – landing on an empty place at the end of the table.

“Well, go on, there’s sitting down or trying to remember your name on your own,” the Eyebrows pointed to the place card on the empty plate apparently reserved for the Greenie.

He rushed over to read his name, but on his way something else cought his eye. Looking up to the ceiling, he noticed an immense red-and-brown stain contrasting the white.

“Probaby don’t look at that if you want to have an appetite,” another blond guy spoke up, taking a sip from a whine glass, “or get drunk and you won’t care,” he shrugged, raising his glass.

The newbie gulped, the feeling of all the air being sucked out of the room returning in a heartbeat. Should he be scared for his own life now? He could hear his blood again. Had someone been killed? His hands felt numb. Was that how you lost in the game? He felt sick. Was he going to die? Suddently the lights were too bright, the ground felt unsafe, there were too many people around him.

He didn’t notice everyone saying something, probably asking him to calm down, he didn’t notice grabbing his head or sitting on the ground or screaming for everyone to shut up, or the hot tears streaming from his eyes, but there he was when a pair of hands landed on his shoulders swiftly and the words "it's alright, Tommy,” reached his ears.

“What?” he asked – the name sounding familiar yet still weird – and raised his head to meet the deep brown eyes of the british boy. There was something about them that made him unable to look away, and the other boy kept looking back, the geasture, mixed with the boys hands on his shoulders, unbelievably calming.

Alby took a piece of paper from the blond boy’s hand, “Thomas,” he read from it, “welcome, Thomas,”

“I’m Newt,” his saviour had taken his hands away from Thomas and risen from his position on the ground, stretching out a hand for him to take, “nice to meet you,” he grinned, shaking his hand as soon as he was upright. For the first time during the night Thomas actually felt like smiling, even if it was a dreary little smile.

“And that’s Gally,” Alby said, pointing to the boy with the eyebrows, “Minho,” pointing to the asian boy already stuffing his face next to Gally, “Ben,” who raised his wine glass again at the mention of his name, “and Chuck,” he said, making Thomas notice the youngest of all of them, quietly watching him.

“He’s much more talkative when there isn’t a bloodstain above his head,” Ben sneered (though more at the situation, not the boy himself), making the younger boy wince.

“Hi,” was all Thomas could get out. He still felt a bit sick and couldn’t bare to make eye contact. He still didn’t entirely comprehend what was going on and couldn’t understand the episode he’d just had and felt embarrased about it, his face still wet with tears.

“I think you might have a slight case of anxiety,” Newt said, as if reading Thomas’ mind and patted his shoulder lightly, jolting Thomas into a straighter pose as if the blond’s fingers had elecricity in them.

“Sit,” Alby offered Thomas his designated seat, pulling the chair away from the table.

“So...” Thomas wasn’t sure how to ask, “wh-what exactly is this?” The chair was surprisingly comortable, but Newt’s lingering presence next to it, as protective as it was, made him very aware of every move he made and every word he uttered. This boy made him almost more stressed than the general situation.

Everyone around the table shared a look. It was apparent they didn’t know how to explain or even where to begin. “It’s twisted,” the youngest ( _Chuck, right?_ ) finally spoke, “they locked us in here. In this house. We have no idea what we did to get here,” his voice was full of sorrow, he obviously didn’t like talking about it, but it looked like he felt it would help overcome it all. Whatever _it all_ was.

“They? Who’s they?” Thomas interrupted, but instead of an answer all he got was regretful glances, none of them aimed at him.

“No clue,” Ben said simply, “all we know is that we get a quiz every day.” _A quiz? What the hell?_ Thomas felt his face scrunch up in confusion.

“Yeah,” Alby nodded, “a test of sorts. Or like a... a trial.” Everyone around him hummed in agreement.

“Alright, but what does that mean?” Thomas kept pushing. That hadn’t made things even a little clearer for him.

“Well, they give us a riddle or something,” Newt had now returned to his seat, “and we have to solve it.”

“And if you don’t?”

“They give us a penalty,” Newt shrugged as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, once we got a night without heating,” Minho stated, having finished his dinner, “That was pretty interesting.”

“We don’t speak of that night,” Newt chuckled.

“Hey, man, we did what had to be done,” Minho laughed and took a sip of his drink.

“There was this one time when we didn’t get food for two days straight,” Alby was smiling and looking at Newt and Minho, “doesn’t sound that bad, but when you don’t know long they’re gonna keep starving you it can get kinda scary.”

“Oh... kay... and that’s all?” Thomas asked, “is there like a limit of how many riddles you have to go through to get released?” for the first time in the evening he was hopeful.

“Not exactly,” Alby said hesitantly. A dreary silence took over the room like a veil.

“You see,” Gally started after having quietly sat and listened to the others, “when you get enough penalties, you get a punishment,” his voice was so cold it made Thomas stir in his seat, “you didn’t think that big-ass blood stain is there for no reason, did you?”

Thomas looked at each of them, trying to understand what that implied, even though deep down he already knew.

“Someone always dies,” Gally continued, “that’s how the circle continues. We get it wrong just enough times in the morning, someone gets killed in the afternoon and hung over the ceiling for dinner,” his voice was quiet and monotone and Thomas felt another anxiety attack coming on, “that’s how you get out of this hell. You die, Greenie.”

Thomas was shaking his head. He couldn’t believe it. He refused to. It wasn’t fucking fair. What had he done to be here? He couldn’t even remember what he’s being punished for. “How do they die?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady and ignore Chuck’s close-to-tears look.

“Noone knows,” Alby looked over to Chuck and sat back in his chair as if saying that’s enough questions for the night.

Thomas just sat there, looking at his plate, unable to imagine being hungry enough to want to eat ever again. The chicken breast had a mocking look on and the potatoes were practically laughing at him, their steaming halo rising as if to smack him in the face but disappearing in mid air mere milimeters from his chin until a realisation struck him.

“Who cooks the food/ Do you?” he asked urgently as if there was no time left and he was about to die.

“What? No.” Newt sat up straighter after looking at Minho questioningly.

“It’s hot. Like, steaming hot. Someone must have cooked it. And put in on the table. It didn’t all just appear on its own,” the newbie explained.

“Uh... we don’t know,” Newt mumbled, the confused look still set on his face.

“As far as we know there’s noone else in this house but the people around this table,” Minho stated.

 _That makes no sense_ , Thomas thought. There was no door leading out of the dining room other than the one they entered through. There was no other way in or out and, as he understood, the hall was accessible at all times. There were no cameras, no windows, yet somehow food was put on the table every day and someone was strung from the ceiling once in a while.

Thomas stood without thinking. There was no dust anywhere. People ate here every day, but there were no stains or smudges of anything other than the spine-chilling one above his head.

“Three meals a day?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” Alby answered unsurely.

“Doors lock every time you leave?”

“Yeah.”

“So then what happens in here when we leave?” Thomas turned around abruptly from his position in the corner of the room, studying the non-existant dust on his fingers that had just been swiped over the baseboard.

“Why do you even care so much?” Ben growled.

“Because that,” Thomas pointed to the table, “is the first step in getting out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm new here and this is the first fic I've ever written, so if it turns out to be crap, you know why. English isn't my first language so if I apologize in advance for all my mistakes. I know the chapters aren't the longest, but I do intend to have many of them, so that should compensate. Anyway, don't mind me, enjoyyyyy!


	3. The Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas has his first morning with the gang, learns something new, doesn't understand it and gets low-key flirted with.

Needless to say that Thomas didn’t sleep at all that night. He tossed and turned in his silk sheets, they drove him insane – why was he given nice things when he knew he couldn’t keep them for long? Sooner or later he’d be strung up above the dining table like some Stephen King’s version of a chandelier.

They’d decided on an early night after finishing their dinner, which Thomas didn’t even take a single bite of, since they all seemed inexplicably uncomfortable discussing the specifics of their current living situation. Thomas couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since someone died and what the person that had died just before he arrived was like.

Newt had wished him a good night with a look in his eyes that seemed to know he wouldn’t be sleeping at all. Thomas liked the idea of him being on the other side of the wall. The blond made him feel safer somehow, and Thomas imagined them being friends before the mansion, before all this insanity. _Yeah, friends_ , that seemed nice, _or maybe more?_

“Up and at ‘em, Greenie!” a loud voice made him wince and stirr awake, “I’d rip the curtains open, but the wall behind them won’t be as dramatic as I’d like,” the voice chimed. There had been wine at the dinner table and Ben had seemed to be only one drinking it, yet Thomas’ head was pounding like crazy, his rapid attempts at trying to blink the pain away completely useless.

Thomas had to look up to see who it was, “Morning to you, too, Alby,” he knew his voice sounded rough and regretful. He didn’t really think he’d fall asleep, but he’d hoped that if he did, he’d wake up back home, safe, wherever that was.

“Breakfast,” Alby informed, turning to leave the room, “I’d get up, if I were you, you don’t wanna know what Gally’s like as an alarm clock,” there was an audible smile in his voice and he was gone before Thomas could ask where he could get any clean clothes that weren’t the dinner tuxedo.

The large closet on the opposite side of the room answered that question before it got asked. He rubbed his eyes and it only helped loosen the pain slightly before he decided to ignore it and get up to walk across the room to the wardrobe. As he opened it to see a mass of morbidly muted-colored fabric Gally walked past his door, looking inside hopefully.

“You’re up,” he stated, “good.”

“Yes, no need to attack me, I’ll be downstairs in a minute,” Thomas rolled his eyes involuntarity, pairing the first grey t-shirt he saw with a pair of black pants and the same sneakers he had on when he arrived.

“Shame,” Gally huffed a laugh, leaving Thomas to himself to get dressed, apparently leaving the door open as right when Thomas was in nothing but jeans Minho’s voice cheered an excited “Well, hello there!” making Thomas jump and throw a shoe at the door to stop Minho from cackling just to miss his face by an inch or two and make him laugh even louder.

The laughter could be heard all the way from Thomas’ room, even when Minho had reached the great hall. “Can you shut up?” Ben groaned, Thomas could see his bed head from the top of the stairs where he now was. The boy’s eyes were red and he was massaging his temples.

“Shouldn’t have been drinking so much at dinner then,” Minho was still giggling.

Thomas was amazed at how friendly and domestic they were. As if there wasn’t a maniac watching over them somewhere, threatening to kill them if they make one wrong move.

“I was celebrating another victory,” Ben rolled his eyes, “everyone hated that guy anyway,” the remark made everyone visibly uncomfortable, yet no one seemed eager to disagree.

“What? No breakfast tuxedos?” Thomas asked, trying to seem as normal as the rest of the boys did. He was glad the others laughed at his joke and couldn’t help but notice Newt wasn’t there yet. “What are those even for?” he decided to keep up the positive atmosphere instead of scolding them for being unnecessarily chirpy.

“I think it’s just a part of the charade,” Minho shrugged, “you know, mansion, fancy dinner, tuxedo, all that jazz. Goes hand in hand.”

“Lovely,” Thomas mumbled, bitterness seeping through the word.

“Oh, sleeping beauty has blessed us with his presence,” Minho sang, “Gods be blessed!”

Thomas looked up to the top of the staircase to indeed see Newt – his hair wet, his grey shirt decorated with little dark spots from the droplets of water still falling from his dark blond hair. Thomas noticed how their shirts were the exact ame color and hoped his mouth wasn’t agape in awe.

“Don’t mock me,” he’d made it to the bottom of the staircase and just like Thomas stepping off the last step had unlocked the dining room door for dinner the previous night – so did Newt now. “How are you feeling?” he placed his hand on Thomas’ shoulder, staying behind as the rest of the gang rushed in for breakfast.

“Physically fine, I guess,” he answered, knowing that was enough said. Newt nodded understandingly and rubbed Thomas’ collar bone with his thumb for the longest moment.

“Hey, shunks, get in here before Minho eats all of the toast,” Gally warned, leaning against the doorway.

“C’mon,” Newt said softly, moving his hand from Thomas’ shoulder to his lower back and leading him into the dining room.

The wasn’t really anything in the house by which you could tell the difference between the morning and the night. There were no windows behind which the sun could be shining brightly and birds singing happily. That was quite hard to forget. The only thing that suggested the different time of the day, Thomas found,  was the subtle change in lighting, the boys’ sleepy faces and the difference in the variety of food during meals.

There were pancake stacks and fruits, and muffins, and omlettes and Thomas was truly amazed. He couldn’t deny he was hungry, especially since he’d skipped dinner the previous night, and all the food looked realy inviting, so he took the seat at the end of the table – the same one he was seated in the night before, following the example lead by the others – and stacked his plate up with anything he wanted just because he could.

It was so easy to forget everything in this blissful fairytale-esque little scene of their’s. It was easy to enjoy the perfect food, even if it was just for a second, before going back to wondering how it got there.

He noticed Chuck looking much cheerful that the night before, sitting next to Thomas and enjoying his breakfast whole-heartedly. He was the youngest of them all and Thomas had already remarked that everyone seemed to be a bit protective of him.

“Hey,” Thomas smiled encouragingly, passing him a couple of napkins the younger boy had been reaching for and trying to get him to open up. He didn’t deserve to be here either and Thomas could at least take his mind off things.

“Hey,” Chuck answered hesitantly, eyeing him, but shrugged a moment afterwards, taking the offered napkins and smiling thankfully.

“How are your pancakes?” Thomas asked.

Chuck looked at the newbie’s plate, “I’m guessing the same as yours,” he giggled and Thomas couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“Touché,” he took a bite off of a piece of toast.

“Don’t worry about me,” Chuck chuckled, “I’m fine with being here. I-I mean I’ve come to terms with it,” the youngest boy shrugged.

“Ok,” Thomas raised his hands in surrender with a laugh, “that’s… ok,” he wasn’t entirely sure what to say as he could sense a tone of sadness and deceit in Chuck’s voice.

“He’s proven on multiple occasions that he can take care of himself,” Gally stated in the bossy manor that he usually talked in, Thomas didn’t know the others could hear their conversation, “he’s a great dude,” his voice sounded much softer when he was talking to Chuck.

Thomas smiled at this revelation. He was glad The Eyebrows had a soft spot for someone. Upon looking back towards his plate, he finally paid attention to the napkins next to Chuck’s plate. They had writing on the corner of them. Like a logo of some sort.

“What’s WCKD?” he asked, examining the thin papery cloth closer. It definitely said WCKD.

“Wicked,” Ben said simply as if that explained everything.

“Wicked is good,” Minho and Alby chanted at the same time only make each other laugh.

Thomas felt confused. He was getting kind of used to feeling that way in this house.

“It’s just something we found in several books in the library,” Alby explained.

“Yeah, in some books it’s just written in, but some actually have that carved on, like, the spine,” Minho chimed in.

“We don’t actually know what it means,” Alby confirmed Thomas’ suspicions. He decided to ignore the fact that the house has a library for now and looked around the table as if asking if anyone else knew only to find everyone looking down.

_Wicked is good._

When they were done with breakfast Minho and Alby excused themselves to go to the library (which Thomas had come to terms with as there was another mystery to ponder) to get on with solving the puzzle of the day. Thomas tried to volunteer to help, but apparently that wasn’t how the boys worked. According to Ben (who had taken a mug of coffee from the breakfast table to try and cure his hangover), it was Minho and Alby’s task to solve it and if, and only if, they couldn’t figure it out, the rest of the gang was called in to help. This, as Thomas gathered, was on very rare occasions, for example yesterday, only, unlike other times, yesterday they couldn’t get to the bottom of it and ended up losing one of their own.

Everyone disappeared just as the dining room door locked itself, the sound resembling what Thomas imagined a guillotine would sound like. It startled him and he turned around abruptly, examining the heavy wooden door. It looked like real wood, but when he knocked on it, it had a sort of void sound to it, almost seeming like a steel door with the wood acting solely as its decoration. The house seemed to him like a dollhouse prison, cold metal and concrete dressed up all neat and nice, elegant even.

“It’s steel,” a voice behind him informed and Thomas didn’t have to turn around to know it was Newt, “I figured that out on my first day,” it wasn’t quite clear whether he was bragging, but Thomas just thought to himself, _clever boy._

“I gathered,” Thomas smiled a bit smugly before pressing his ear up to the door.

“Airtight as well. Not a sound comes through,” Newt leaned against the door and slid down until he was sitting on the ground, “we tested that out a couple of weeks ago when we were bored out of our minds,” he explained, rolling his eyes at the memory and making Thomas laugh.

“Did you just stay in there, screaming?” there was a huge, possibly idiotic smile plastered on Thomas’s face as he sat down next to Newt.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Newt dismissed, “we shoved Gally in there and held it shut and when we opened it back up again a minute later, he was screaming like a maniac,” Newt seemed fond of the memory, “he was being an arse that day,” he elaborated.

“Ah, so well deserved,” Thomas commented.

“Absolutely,” the blond responded, pulling a comically authoritative face, “of course, we later realized that staying in there in complete silence was a bit claustrophobic and possibly also potentially maddening.”

“No shit,” Thomas replied sarcastically, hugging one of his knees to his chest, “what do you think is going on in there right now?” Thomas asked, letting his head rest against the hard wooden doorframe behind him.

“Ghosts with a chef’s education,” Newt stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and it took Thomas a moment to realize he was joking.

It was so great speaking to the tall handsome blond. Sure, he made Thomas inexplicably nervous and excited, but it was also so easy. He was funny and clever, his sarcastic remarks made Thomas forget their horrid surroundings and at this point he loved anything that made him forget, even if for a second. The way the other boys acted as if they were fine with this truly amazed Thomas and, even though he understood that this is the only life any of them really knew, he still wasn’t exactly sympathetic towards it.

“Have you ever helped them?” Thomas asked, leaned against the dining room door, looking at the door to the library, wondering what they were doing right this second. He hadn’t taken Minho as the genius type, more like just a friendly old goof, but it the others trusted his with their lives like this, he had no right to protest after just a day of being here.

“Saving our arses,” Newt said and Thomas found the blond watching him intently when he turned back to him.

Thomas didn’t want to push any further, he already felt like a burden with all these questions, so he just accepted whatever he could het and shut up.

“Yesterday was a hard one, obviously,” Newt elaborated as if having read Thomas’ mind, “sometimes it’s easier and they get off faster. That’s rare, though,” the boy’s head was rested against the door, but his eyes stayed firmly on Thomas, “they’re usually in there for hours, rarely ever finished in time for lunch,” Newt explained, now watching the door as Thomas watched him, _so that’s why Minho looked so hungry at dinner,_ “I usually just bring them something sweet from the table as a form of apology for being so dumb and unhelpful.”

 _So thoughtful… and kind,_ Thomas caught himself thinking, observing the blond mess of finally dried hair and seeing a few amber strands of hair among the gold and honey tones. He already knew the precise look of his eyes and for some reason he liked memorizing the colors, it calmed him just like the boy himself.

“The puzzles are pretty messed up as well. One time there was a murder case that they were given a week to solve. I’m sure you can imagine that wasn’t too easy. They never really stopped thinking about it for a week straight, despite us trying to help and insisting on joining the ‘investigation’” Newt put air quotes up at the last word, “sometimes they don’t even want to speak about it afterwards. Or speak at all, for that matter.”

Thomas felt guilty somehow. There was nothing he could really do, no one would have let him anyway, but he hated having to do nothing while two of his new friends were working their asses off, trying to save his. He could feel Newt thinking the same thing as they both stared at the library door intensely.

 _Wicked is good,_ the phrase was stuck in his head like a spinning record, an earworm.

“Would you like to see the extended tour of the house?” Newt turned towards his interlocutor suddenly, as if snapping himself out of a trail of thought along with doing the same to Thomas “I take it you’ve only seen the dining room and your bedroom.”

“How much more is there to see?” Thomas felt confused, but Newt just smiled cheekily in return, jumped up and offered Thomas his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halla! I'm trying to make the chapters longer (as requested by a few of my friends) and keep them interesting. Stay tuned, I have big plans for this.


	4. The House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt gives Thomas a tour of his favorite places in the house.

Apparently there was a lot to see. First place Newt took the Newbie was a gym. It was large, it had impressive equipment, yet it didn’t quite manage to amaze him. It was still just a solid concrete room with no sun, no fresh air. It was massive and yet Thomas felt hopelessly claustrophobic.

“I get the feeling,” Newt chuckled, apparently having watched Thomas’ reaction, “no one’s usually impressed by this place. No one really uses it either,” he added in a whisper as if it was a closely guarded secret that Thomas wasn’t supposed to know, “except maybe Minho, but he doesn’t tell us.”

“But then how do you explain the muscles?” Thomas shrieked dramatically.

“Exactly!” Newt sounded excited, possibly a bit too excited for Thomas’ mere-average joke, but he didn’t dare turn around and look at him. “Were you just as unimpressed?” Thomas asked, dragging his fingers over the boxing gloves, he could feel himself blush, a grin tugging on the corners of his lips involuntarily. He focused himself on examining the leather, concentrating on the tiny cracks, trying to ignore the fact that with every sentence, every word he’s getting to know Newt better, even if it was just the smallest and most insignificant of facts.

“I wasn’t given a tour,” he pouted.

“How awfully rude,” Thomas’ smile was now audible as his voice was shaking. He hoped Newt wouldn’t notice. He also hoped he would.

On the hem inside the glove he noticed a small embroidered writing: _property of WCKD._ His smile faltered, it was everywhere. They were everywhere. Someone was watching him at all times. There was no other explanation. There were also no cameras – he’d noticed that during the night.

_He’d gotten up at some point after tossing and turning for an hour and gone to explore. Every door was locked, so he deemed it useless and headed back to his room. It was pitch black, the only sound was his bare feet tip-toeing on the freezing marble floor. He felt as if being watched, but upon turning on the lights he found there was no one there and there were no cameras anywhere. Nothing. But he knew. He knew someone saw his every move._

“It’s fine, I explored on my own,” Newt smiled the sweetest of smiles, taking the boxing glove and putting it back precisely where Thomas had taking it. His expression was now knowing, daring, even. Had he heard Thomas getting up in the middle of their regularly scheduled slumber?

“That’s not a bad way to get around,” Thomas beamed, watching Newt’s face for a moment, partly in awe, partly as a challenge.

“Wholeheartedly agree,” Newt bobbed his head slowly, apparently taking the same challenge and stared right back shamelessly.

“Is, uh,” Thomas tried his best to regain himself and look cool, leaning against one of the shelves that held all the equipment, “is this the only place you wanted me to see?”

That seemed to snap the blond out of it, “No!” he exclaimed, grabbing Thomas’ hand and pulling him out of the cold room. He dragged him through the corridors and, as happy and free as Thomas felt, he hoped none of the others would see them like this – just darting across the main hall, into a hallway, turning a corner and then another one. As happy as he was he didn’t want anyone else to see him that way, to be a part of his happiness.

“You’re gonna love it, Tommy,” the dashing young gentleman flashed his dashing smile and Thomas couldn’t help but soak in the contentment of him knowing he’ll love something when they’ve known each other for less than a day, “This is just a pit stop, though.” They descended down a spiral staircase and Thomas was once again surprised by the many unexpected quirks of the house. It was a dimly lit room of about 10 square feet, with one of the majestic wooden doors, that Thomas had already gotten used to in the house, mysteriously blocking the entry to another room, “open it!” it sounded almost like another challenge.

It was dark and smelled of wood, mold and dust. Newt switched on the light revealing a wine cellar. “What are we in the mood for?” Newt was already walking up to one of the crate-stuffed shelves, expertly picking out two bottles, “Pinot Noir? Savignon Blanc? I’m more of a Malbec guy myself and no, I’m not letting you out of Bourgogne, I found a book about it in the library and I might be just the slightest bit obsessed,” he chuckled, handing Thomas a dark bottle, apparently having decided on his own, “but don’t go near the champagne, Ben will never forgive you if you drink his dear Chardonnay.” Thomas obviously couldn’t remember ever having heard French, but the way it poured out of Newt’s mouth like honey, he was sure it was the only correct pronunciation out there.

“There’s a fucking wine cellar,” Thomas knew he must have looked dazed and a bit slow, but amazed nonetheless.

“Yeah, fully-stocked, as well, ever since Ben first found it,” Newt giggled at Thomas’ astonished face, “we haven’t run out yet.”

“So it’s the same as the dining room,” Thomas’ detective mode was back on. He started looking around to find anything, unsure of how a dusty old wine cellar would be easier to investigate than a perfect dining room. Noticing Newt’s questioning face he made a mental note to tone down the escape plans and just focus on their… _date?_ “Case of the mysterious wine ghost?” he said hopefully.

“Now that’s a ghost I wouldn’t mind being,” Newt pointed at Thomas, grabbed his wrist and lead him back upstairs as Thomas chuckled.

The blond lead him through the corridor, this time much more calmly and quietly, to a small door under the main staircase. It seemed hidden, kind of like a secret passageway, blending perfectly into the wall. Thomas wouldn’t be surprised if no one else knew about it but Newt. There was anticipation burning in the pit of his stomach, he was excited and not entirely sure what about. All he knew was that Newt made him feel this way and every glance he caught him steal only made the feeling grow.

“No, wait, close your eyes,” Newt demanded and Thomas obeyed immediately. There was something about that boy that made him trust him completely and so he let him lead him in, only being held by the hand and told to “mind the step.”

“Aight,” Newt uttered and took his hand away, leaving a cold emptiness to Thomas’ palm which disappeared instantly as he took in the view in front of him. The room was incredibly light and at first Thomas couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  The walls were all glass, even though they were matted and deprived of any view, there were plants everywhere and Thomas could swear he was getting high off oxygen, a cobblestone pathway lead to a couple of benches that surrounded a tiny fountain in the middle of the large room. _A fountain?_ It was a steampunk-looking conservatory and Thomas will be damned if that wasn’t the most beautiful place he’d ever seen, he was sure of it, even if he could’ve remembered his life prior to this house.

“I sometimes come here, close my eyes and imagine I’m outside,” Newt’s voice rang from the other side of the room now. Thomas hadn’t noticed him leave his side, and being unable to see the boy and only hear him while closing his eyes and imagining he’s outside was the calmest moment he could remember having. The room was colder than the rest of the house and the pattering of the fountain really did make him feel as if he was outside, free, undetained by the walls of the mansion.

“Picnic?” Newt offered, coming out from somewhere among the plants and swaying the wine.

“That’s a very poor picnic,” Thomas chortled with a raised eyebrow, “especially compared to the breakfast.”

“Fair point, but at least it’s expensive. And French.”

Thomas could do nothing but comply, joining Newt on one of the wooden benches where the blond was sitting on its backrest rather than like a normal person would, already working the corkscrew on the bottle and by the time Thomas reached him he heard the satisfying _pop_ of the cork bursting out.

“To, uh…,” Newt struggled to think of a toast.

“The lovely Frenchman who made this wine,” Thomas suggested (avoiding toasting to anything in the house for, as beautiful as it was, he hated it) and sat down next to Newt on the wooden back of the bench, unable to give the smallest of craps about braking it.

“Yup, I’ll drink to that guy,” Newt took a swig from the bottle and passed it to Thomas who shamelessly gulped down several mouthfuls as the other boy watched him with a look of amazement and respect.

“I’ve needed that since last night,” Thomas admitted, answering the wordless question on Newt’s face.

“Aight,” the blond shrugged and took the bottle back, mimicking his drinking buddy and gulping down quite a bit himself, “man, I love wine,” he admitted, his face a bit scrunched up, which Thomas found to be the cutest sight he could imagine.

The bottle was gone in no time, the two boys comfortably stretched out on the cold ground, looking up at the glass roof, both warm, fuzzy and slightly dazed. Thomas could feel the warmth of Newt’s skin – he was so close, laying on the cold stones, he wanted to stay there forever, just talking to Newt, and when a question popped in his head he tried his hardest not to succumb to its pressure, but he had to ask. He had to get it out.

“Why haven’t you tried braking the glass?” he asked, turning his head only to find that Newt was already looking at him.

“Uh…” he averted his gaze before answering, “I have. Almost lost a leg in the process.”

“How come?” Thomas bolted up, suddenly inexplicably worried about the other boy.

“The windowpanes have electricity running through them,” Newt said silently, “found out the hard way.”

“Holy shit,” the newbie exclaimed, “are you serious?”

“Unfortunately,” he shrugged, “I’m fine, though,” his smile was thankful, as if saying _it’s nice that someone cares._

Thomas fell silent for a few seconds – partly not to seem inconsiderate, partly because he genuinely felt sorry for Newt – before asking “but have you tried the cobblestones?”

Newt’s smile was as sad as it was ironic when he uttered “yes, Tommy, I have,” closed his eyes again and added, “didn’t go through.”

Suddenly there was a banging sound coming from somewhere in the house and, as they left the conservatory (their alcohol-induced blood thumping in their heads, making them dizzy from getting up so hastily) to check if everything was alright, they were greeted by the stinging smell of smoke which, they found, was coming from the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting, I'll try to write more, I just also have to graduate from school so multi-tasking it is, I guess. Anyway, hope you guys are enjoying this and if you're not, at least make the hate funny.


	5. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting continuously weirder, even for the guys that have been in the house longer.

“Shit,” Newt whispered, running ahead as Thomas struggled to follow suit, “shit, shit, shit,” he repeated, louder each time.

The doors to the library appeared to be sealed shut, no one able to get in or out. Gally was trying to rip them open, one of his legs placed upon the wall to get an advantage on the laws of physics. The smoke was dark and thick, slowly starting to fill up the main hall. If they didn’t do anything about the situation, they would all suffocate soon. It was then that the horrid realization dawned on Thomas: _the house has no windows._

“That’s not gonna work,” Thomas found himself saying too courageously for someone who’s been here for less than twenty four hours.

“Oh, yeah?’ Gally said in a challenging tone, “what do you propose we do then, Greenie?” he added, making the last word sound almost poisonous.

Thomas stepped up to the door and examined it closely. It obviously wasn’t as air tight as the dining room door and, as the boys inside banged upon it, it sounded like wood not steel. The smoke came through the small cracks between the hinges and the walls, and judging by that the lock couldn’t be too sturdy.

He stood right in front of the door, turning his right shoulder towards it, “little help?” he challenged, Newt standing next to him almost instantly, Ben and Gally following, “cover your noises, boys,” he advised before counting down from three and colliding his shoulder with the door with a loud clash. “Chuck, get out of here,” he barked, rubbing his aching shoulder, “don’t need you to breathe all of this in,” apparently the youngest didn’t have to be told twice as he rushed upstairs a second later.

“Guys, step away from the door,” Newt announced to Minho and Alby rather loudly, ready to repeat Thomas’ actions and stretching out the right side of his neck, “we’re going in.”

It only took two more tries for the door to fly open ( _a bit too easily,_ Thomas thought), the smoke eddying from the smaller room and into the hall almost looking like an animal attach, stinging their eyes and throats. Newt and Gally rushed in to check on the puzzle solvers, disappearing from Thomas’ view as soon as they ran in, the smoke eating them up. Thomas was sure they couldn’t see where they were going and he could do nothing but stand there and wait, shock having frozen up his entire body.

The Eyebrows dragged the two limp, lifeless bodies out of the room, yelling “Newt! I’ve got them, get out of there!” and looking up to Thomas as if asking for help. Ben had disappeared somewhere, leaving only his aid until Newt emerged from the black fog seconds later.

“Where did Ben go?” the Blond asked in a scratchy voice, obviously trying his hardest not to cough.

“Dunno,” Gally answered quickly, lifting Minho’s body and carrying it towards the stairs, “but we need to get them out of here, the bedrooms should still be unharmed.”

Newt nodded and helped Thomas carry Alby to one of the bedrooms upstairs, where the air was incomparably better and lighter, almost heavenly.

They laid the two boys on the bed, Newt rushing out of the room as soon as they were settled, returning a minute later with two large glasses of water, which Thomas made a mental note to ask about later. Gally was leaned over them, smacking their faces lightly to wake them up. When they didn’t react for a couple of minutes Thomas already feared the unthinkable as Gally still patted their cheeks restlessly, making them turn increasingly pinker.

“Gally,” Newt started, a mixture of hopelessness and regret oozing through in his voice, but Minho’s eyes fluttered open at that exact moment, making the Blond rush over with his glass of water and an embrace as a greeting back to life, “you scared us so much, you klunkhead!”. He looked confused and disassociated, taking a sip from the glass and handing it back to Newt before turning his head to Alby lying next to him.

Thomas didn’t want to feel like an interruption, so he just slowly backed out of the room, leaving the foursome to themselves. He found Chuck waiting right outside, the look on his face almost pleading, definitely desperate. “Minho’s back,” Thomas smiled at him, but the younger boy’s face did’t change much, “yeah, Alby’s still down.”

Chuck nodded, “he’ll pull through,” he sounded like he was trying to convince someone – probably himself. “I’m sorry I wasn’t of much help,” he looked to his feet.

“Hey, buddy, no, if anything I should be sorry,” Thomas felt a pang of guilt in his stomach, “I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that.”

“I bruise easily,” the curly-haired boy shrugged with a laugh, “wouldn’t have been of much help.”

Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle at this adorable little boy and he was glad he decided to send him upstairs earlier what with all the smoke and everything. _The smoke,_ he remembered. The house was filling up by thick, bestial smoke just minutes ago, yet he couldn’t smell the for some reason familiar sharp pang of it. _Where’s the smoke?_

Patting Chuck’s shoulder, he rushed downstairs to find a perfectly clean, fine hall, the only thing indicating any change in their routine being the open dining room door, an inviting sight that Ben had already taken upon himself to enjoy without a care in the world.

Thomas suddenly felt a burning fury in his stomach, _who did this guy think he was?_ Sure, Thomas hadn’t been here long, but he knew the basics of human decency and eating a hearty meal was not exactly the first thing you do when two of your friends are knocked out by mysterious smoke. But just as he was about to storm in there to yell at him, Newt’s voice rang through the hall “Tommy, can you get some food up here?” there was relief in his words which made Thomas forget about Ben completely, “Alby’s awake.”

Thomas’ brain seemed to be able to register nothing but _oh, thank God,_ as he grabbed two plates and stuffed them with anything he saw, giving Ben the stink eye as he left.

“…what are you talking about that’s insane,” Newt’s voice said as Thomas got closer to the bedroom, “Alby, you’re not making much sense.”

“I’m telling you, something’s off with that kid,” Alby sounded broken, his voice cracky, coughs threatening to break through after every word, “He shows up here and everything goes to shit.”

“I agree,” the shrugging could be heard through the hallway as Gally spoke.

“Well I don’t,” Newt said sternly, “you’re just accusing him of nothing now.”

“Yeah, man, there’s no way he’s responsible,” Minho laughed as if the discussion was obviously pointless, “you have no proof of it anyway.”

“I _saw_ him,” Gally pleaded for them to believe him.

“In a demented, smoke-caused dream,” Newt finished for him.

“Why was there even any smoke?” Gally asked accusingly.

“He was with me the whole morning, he didn’t poison them,” Newt was on the verge of yelling.

“Guys,” Minho said hopefully, but was blatantly ignored.

“He’s not a murderer,” Newt was still trying to prove his point, though Thomas felt it was useless.

“Guys!” Minho repeated a few decibels louder, “we have bigger problems right now.

 _What could possibly be more important than accusing someone of attempted murder,_ Thomas couldn’t imagine and hoped Newt would prove his point in the long run. He was just standing there, two plates in his hands, afraid to go in and being able to just listen, spy on the four boys that were currently deciding his fate.

“We left the library without finishing the task,” and just as Thomas started to wonder what that meant, he elaborated, “Whoever it was, they literally smoked us out. One of us is going to die today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, I know, I'm sorry, I'm trying.   
> Big thanks to everyone who actually reads this and, like, enjoys it? What? That's so surreal.


	6. Hanging Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !WARNING! MENTION OF MURDER AND BLOOD, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, MY DUDES! But apart from that I think you'll love this one.

Thomas could not stop the plates from falling out of his hands, his limbs felt numb and his mind went blank, yet it felt like a lifetime before they touched the ground. A thousand thoughts went through his mind – _am I going to die? Is someone going to punish me for nothing? Am I guilty? Have I done this to all of the others? Is one of them going to die? Chuck’s far too young to go, he doesn’t deserve this. Neither does any of the others, no matter how convinced of my guilt they are. I don’t want them to get hurt. I don’t want Newt to get hurt. Newt. Please, God, don’t let it be Newt._  

Everything was in slow motion before the sound of shattering china snapped him out of it. _What the fuck am I going to do now?_ The last echo of a thought resonated in his mind as he watched the mess of shards and food on the floor and then looked up to find Newt rushing over to see what was happening.

“Someone’s going to die,” Thomas whispered, “and it’s my fault,” he felt tears in his eyes, but he didn’t care, it was just Newt.

”Why would you say that?” the tall blond stammered.

Thomas looked up to find the other boy confused and possibly even scared, “well, that’s what they said,” he mumbled, nodding towards the door, leading to the room that held their little accusation party.

“No, no, Tommy,” Newt’s hands had reached up to cup his cheeks now, “don’t listen to them, they don’t know what they’re saying,” he assured and although Thomas sensed tension and panic in his voice, even while avoiding the older boy’s eyes, there was still a calming stamina about him. Since day one – Newt was his personal dose of anti-anxiety medication.

The fear and dread of the next couple of hours slipped for a moment, he was fine. He was going to be fine. So was Newt.

“Right, as much as this just warms my heart,” Gally’s obnoxious voice made Newt jump, his hands slipping down Thomas’ neck and shoulders before falling limply to his sides, “we do need to get to our rooms. They’re gonna kill one of us, I’d prefer if the rest weren’t around to see,” his disregard and mundane attitude towards someone losing their life sickened Thomas. It made him crazy. _How can he just not care?_ “See you shanks at dinner,” a flicker of humanity, the tiniest bit of sadness and fear appeared in his eyes just as he turned away and started walking towards what Thomas assumed was his bedroom.

Alby followed suit, not even looking at the two boys still standing just inches apart, looking at each other, desperate, but hesitant to say out loud what they knew they should. They might be dead soon, after all. No good way to describe his feelings came to mind so Thomas just decided on hugging the blond tightly, apparently not surprising him at all with this decision as the boy hugged him right back, saying more than enough through his embrace.

They avoided each other’s gaze as they parted, opening and closing each their own respective bedroom door simultaneously. The silence in Thomas’ room was painful, almost screaming for him to do something just so he wouldn’t have to listen to his own blood pumping through his veins, but he fought against it, remembering the possibility of it being the last time he feels his heartbeat, drags his fingers through his hair or feels anxious.

He paced around the room and it felt like hours and seconds at the same time. It was strange, as if time didn’t exist, as if a whole dimension had been ripped away.

He sat on the edge of his bed, ready to embrace whatever the world, the house was about to throw at him. He took a deep breath and let it go, thinking of how great breathing is, how he’d miss it. Then another one, then another.

He wished he could go to sleep so he wouldn’t have to feel this way. He wished he could fall asleep, cradling Newt in his arms, so _he_ wouldn’t have to feel this way. He was halfway through wishing Newt was here when the door burst open.

Ready for his death, he closed his eyes, but started hyperventilating. _Just do it,_ he found himself thinking, _just get on with it._

Instead, he was greeted by Gally unpleased face. _So this is how I go?_

“The fuck are you doing?” The eyebrows’ eyebrows shot up questioningly, making Thomas confused.

“You’re not here to kill me?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Greenie?” the question sounded so spiteful, the boy’s face even more so, but he obviously let it go, rolling his eyes and adding, “it’s almost dinner time, don’t make us wait,” nodding towards the Tuxedo hanged on the wardrobe door and leaving the room.

 _Dinner time?_ It only now occurred to Thomas that Gally had been wearing a tux, as well. It’s hard to tell how much time passes when you’re fearing for your life and someone else’s at the same time. Not having any windows doesn’t really help.

As he put his own suit on, he found himself wondering how weird it seemed that he was about to see someone hanged from the ceiling, but he had to be dressed up for it. Almost like a funeral, though it didn’t feel like one – more like an obscene version of a celebration. A demonstration of someone’s power over them. _We’re just kids, for fuck’s sake._

It was not until he reached the stairs that he felt the numbness in his legs, the stiffness of his muscles. They were all down there, waiting. All except for one. His biggest fear had come true. His eyes moved over the boys sporadically, searching their faces for an answer. A hope of it all being just a joke, just a warning took over his body as he turned back to look at Newt’s bedroom door next to his own in hope of him showing up. _No, no, no, no, no._

 “Well get down here, you’re not making it any easier by not letting us look at that shank,” Minho said, fixing his collar.

 _How dare you,_ Thomas thought, _he was the best thing in this house. He was the best fucking person in the world and you talk about him that way?_

“He must look bloody ugly,” the sniggering snapped Thomas out of his rage-fueled walk towards the Asian boy. Was he imagining Newt’s voice now? Looking over to the source of the sound, he saw Newt walking up to him from the library with that gorgeous tuxedo of his. _Damn,_ “possibly just as ugly as _that_ smoked-arse place.”

“Fuck,” Thomas barely managed to breathe out before crushing Newt in a bear hug, “why the hell were you in there? I thought you were shucking dead!” he yelled into the blonde’s ear as he patted his back in return.

“Why?” a trace of a confused smile was audible in his voice.

“Cause you weren’t here and I thought you’re dead, and I almost punched Minho, Jesus, am I happy to see you,” he whispered the last part.

“What did I do?” Minho apparently asked someone else as Thomas barely heard the question.

“Think you called his boyfriend a shank,” Alby snorted quietly, but there was little evil behind the words.

“Wha-“

“Enough!” Gally crowed, “we need to get in there. Get the food and try not to look at him if you want an appetite,” he advised Thomas, heading for the dining room door.

 _Wait, what?_ Thomas was convinced they were all there already. _One, two, three, four, five,_ he counted everyone around him, _five? Weren’t we seven?_ Six, if he added himself, but someone was missing _. That’s right, I forgot…_

…Ben. He was strapped to the ceiling, his eyes open in terror, a shocked look on his face. Thomas couldn’t really tell how he’d been murdered as the blood appeared to be everywhere – covering his clothes, on his face, on his neck, even seeping into the ceiling, reminding Thomas of the night of his arrival, which seemed to have been weeks ago and no only yesterday, when he walked in to a dark red stain right above the dining table.

It looked like a slaughterhouse. Thomas was too busy looking at Ben in a dizzying mix of disgust and fascination (the idea of dinner long, long gone) to notice what everyone else was looking at.

With bright red letters, seemingly written with someone’s fingers, but obviously written in Ben’s blood stood _WCKD IS GOOD. DON’T DOUBT US AGAIN._

Everyone’s eyes turned to Thomas. So he _was_ to blame. He’d been the only one questioning this place, disobeying when told to leave it alone and just go with it. _He. Was. To. Blame._

“They made him write it in his own blood before they finished him off for good,” Chuck said surprisingly calmly and Thomas was thankful everyone turned away to look at the youngest boy, “look, his fingers are dipped in blood,” he pointed out. Only the very fingertips were almost clean, dragged over the wall so much they weren’t even bloody anymore.

That did make sense. The writing was shaky in places, he must have been in a huge amount of pain.

Thomas watched Chuck. He was pale and there was fear in his eyes, but when he spoke it sounded like his soul had been taken away. He sounded empty.

“Right, well, I think I’m as far from hungry as I’ll ever be,” Minho announced and turned to go, turning back around a second later and grabbing a couple of breadsticks, “what? In case I change my mind,” he shrugged off everyone’s questioning looks and left.

Silence fell over the room like a veil, no one dared to move, much less say anything.

“Yep, I’m done, too,” Alby nodded, disturbing the uncomfortable silence and went upstairs.

“Come, on,” Gally said, turning Chuck around and pulling him away from the scene, which should’ve been done far earlier.

Thomas looked after them in disbelief, “Ben’s dead,” he said to Newt who was, he only now noticed, gripping his hand, “they left a message in blood, Newt.”

“Not the worst we’ve seen,” Newt admitted, “let’s go,” he suggested and before Thomas could argue added, “please, Tommy.”

It took him by surprise, so he complied, but not before reaching up and closing Ben’s eyes, allowing to be dragged upstairs and into Newt’s room, thankful for it as he definitely did not want to be alone after what they just saw.

He’d never wondered what Newt’s room would look like, but somehow he wasn’t surprised at the view that unfolded before him. Piles of books littered the floor, looking as if Newt had managed to save the library before it was smoked out. Clothes drying on a makeshift drier, made out of two chairs, apparently they had to wash them on their own. Scribbles, sketches and drawings plastering the wall that would’ve been covered by curtains in any other room in the house. The bed was a mess, but it looked so cozy. A wave of exhaustion took him over him as he imagined lying in it, yet Thomas couldn’t help but smile, the grin widening when he noticed Newt’s blushing cheeks.

“I assumed you’ll want someone to watch over you and your nightmares,” he said sheepishly, avoiding Thomas’ eyes and taking an interest in his own shoes.

“I don’t want anyone to watch over me,” Thomas whispered, coming closer to the blond, “just you.”

Newt’s hopeful, surprised glance upwards warmed Thomas’ heart. He sensed how intimidated and nervous he made the boy feel and could, himself, relate to the sentiment.

Their proximity was the only thing that mattered. Ben’s face may have been imprinted into Thomas’ brain until the day he dies, but right now it had no meaning. It was eons ago, not minutes. Nothing in the whole world existed but the way Newt looked at him or the way he smelled – a scent, perfectly designed to invite Thomas to get even closer, to dare him to take the older boy’s hands and to lean his forehead against Newt’s as he closed his eyes.

Thomas could count the freckles on his face and he promised himself that one day he would, but right now he had other priorities. Like watching Newt’s eyelashes or listening to his breathing, hearing the anticipation in every smallest shake.

They almost lost each other today so Thomas couldn’t afford to wait anymore. He knew Newt had left him in charge of the situation by closing his eyes and waiting ever so patiently, so he gathered every drop of courage he had, leaned in, and pressed his lips to Newt’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It happened, you're welcome. Thanks for being patient and for still reading this. Also a big thanks to everyone who says nice things to me about this, you guys have no idea how much that warms my heart. Much love. stay patient as I might get busier over the next couple of weeks.


	7. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after, some light puzzle solving, looooads of guilt.

The chattering of everyone around the breakfast table sounded absent. If any of them did talk to Thomas, he had no idea and he couldn’t care less. The only thing he’d been able to focus on when they’d arrived had been the absence of Ben’s dead body above the table and Miho’s pale face and loud coughing that snapped him out of it once in a while. Other than that the only thing he was aware of was Newt sitting next to him, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. _His lips._ It brought Thomas back to the previous night. _Their kiss._

_It wasn’t desperate and hungry, and lustful. It wasn’t sweet and shy either. It was full of longing, as if they were finally reunited after years apart. It felt like coming home and no one else mattered, Thomas couldn’t care if the world ended provided his last moment alive was this kiss. Newt’s hands had found Thomas’ cheeks in a heartbeat after their lips had collided, cupping them ever so slightly, carefully, as if Thomas could break, as if he’d leave if touched too hard. The brunet, on the other hand, took a hold of the older boy’s waist, digging his fingers into his hips…_

The breakfast passed in a haze and when everyone was leaving, Thomas wasn’t entirely sure if he’d eaten anything at all. He felt almost drunk on Newt. The boy’s presence made him uneasy in the sweetest way and he couldn’t get enough. He hadn’t been able to just hours ago either.

_…Pulling apart seemed like the most idiotic idea in the history of the universe. Neither of them would admit they were exhausted until Thomas yawned into Newt’s mouth, making him laugh, resting his forehead on the Brunet’s shoulder and ignoring his “stop, why are you laughing at me?” that came out in a desperate chuckle, even though he was far from embarrassed, in fact he was just happy to see Newt smile._

_“Sleep,” the older boy managed to make out in a hungry whisper, “you need sleep.”_

_Disobeying didn’t seem like an option and his sticky eyelids told him he was in no condition not to oblige, so he let himself be dragged to Newt’s bed and tucked in like a child, which he did not mind at all. Feeling cared for was a sensation he didn’t know he missed. Didn’t even know he knew…_

As everyone set to their tasks for the day – Alby still recovering in bed, Gally, still avoiding both Newt and Thomas _after_ _the morning_ , refusing to leave Minho without help and Chuck disappearing off to wherever he disappeared to every day – the pair was hit with the realization that they can do whatever they wanted to for hours on end. And what they wanted, all they wanted, was to lock themselves away from the horrors of reality, the murder, the sadistic bullshit the creator of this test was pulling on its inhabitants. They just wanted to be safe and alone and the perfect place for it was the warmth of Newt’s unchangingly messy bed.

_…Thomas had imagined waking up next to Newt, but this exceeded all expectations. He could hear his soft breaths stirring him awake. He was being held tightly by the taller boy as if needing protection from the big bad wolf, and the only move he could make was raising his head a couple of centimeters to watch the sleeping blond. A tiny snore escaped his mouth once in a while, sending a herd butterflies free in Thomas’ stomach._

Adorable _was the word Thomas heard in his head over and over again until_ all mine _took over, making him impatient to wait for him to open his eyes. He was surprised how little space his head had to move in order for their lips to touch. He was just as surprised of how little time it took Newt to wake up and reciprocate, pulling Thomas impossibly closer, opening and moving his lips in sync to Thomas’, spending seemingly hours exploring each other’s mouths, grinding their tongues against the other’s teeth, dragging fingers through each other’s hair, ignoring the dizzying lack of air they both felt and compensating by leaving scratch marks on each other’s backs…_

Thomas caught a glimpse of Gally’s attention before he accompanied Minho into the library and turned away, embarrassed, possibly blushing, making Thomas laugh as he remembered the morning.

_…Thomas was on top of Newt. When did that happen? He didn’t care, he was absolutely infatuated, undefinably happy and concealed from the rest of the world, deaf to the sound of the door opening until it was too late and Gally’s shocked voice yelled profanities, adding a mumbled and awkward “we’re hungry, come downstairs,” before leaving and slamming the door shut after him._

_They burst out laughing a second later as Thomas sat up, Newt’s hands hesitant to let him go. “One meal and we can get back to this,” Thomas may or may have felt himself blush, ”hi, by the way,” he added, combing Newt’s hair out of his face with his fingers._

_“Hello yourself,” Newt ignored his request, grabbing his hands and pulling him back down, pecking his lips, his nose, his check and, when he turned away, his neck._

_“I’m not gonna be able to…” words failed Thomas as “…stop?” came out more like a question than a statement._

_“Then don’t,” Newt breathed back, giving Thomas a millisecond to escape, stepping off his…_ boyfriend?... _and panting loudly._

_”Gally already hates me,” Thomas’ breathing was fast and heavy, but he managed to roll his eyes, “I don’t want to be responsible of leaving the man to starve.”_

_“I’ll be responsible,” Newt was in front of him inhumanly fast, the distance between them now thin as paper. The shy boy Thomas had seen in Newt the previous night was gone. He was demanding and possessive now and Thomas didn’t mind one bit – he felt the exact same way._

_“Later,” Thomas promised, leaning back as Newt leaned forward, making him groan in impatience, “when I make sure Gally doesn’t want to strangle me or accuse you of favoritism.”_

_“Oh, guilty as charged.”_

_“Did you take my pants off?” he changed the subject, catching Newt off-guard, only now having noticed how cold his legs were._

_“Sleeping in jeans isn’t too comfortable, now is it?” Newt retorted with a snobby smirk._

_Looking down, Thomas found Newt himself had put sweatpants on – apparently Thomas_ had _fallen asleep as quickly as he’d thought – “I feel at a disadvantage,” he raised an eyebrow._

 _“You shouldn’t,” Newt assured, leaving a peck on Thomas’ lips before gushing away to get dressed, throwing Thomas’ pants at him the second he turned to look at his…_ boyfriend?... _taking his sweatpants off…_

“Actually,” Minho emerged from the library, “I think we can use your help. Without Alby I’m kinda useless.”

All three of the boys standing around him suddenly had sour faces that he didn’t seem to notice. Who could blame him? He still looked like shit and probably felt the same, not to mention that he had no idea what was going on between the three, making him completely impartial and giving the rest of them a reason to act as if there was nothing to feel awkward about.

Thomas was sure Minho was over-exaggerating, but he didn’t want to risk Newt’s or his own life to find out. Besides spending the day in a library with his… _boyfriend?..._ didn’t seem like the worst idea ever, even if there were two other guys tagging along, one of which avoided all eye contact with the pair, and the other looked like he was dying.

 Most of the library was covered in dark grey, almost black, dust which Thomas assumed were particles from the smoke. _Fucking hell, if this was what Minho and Alby were breathing in,_ he thought. Minho set to recovering their notes. According to him the smaller tasks they had to solve every day were all a part of something bigger, each coming as a tiny clue, a miniature piece in an enormous puzzle.

He explained the notes to Thomas as Gally and Newt set to looking at the small wooden box on an ornate coffee table in the middle of the room, _was that the puzzle of the day?_

Newt and Gally seemed to be pretty familiar with the notes, finishing Minho’s sentences when he started a coughing fit, adding an “oh, yeah, that’s right” once in a while as Thomas sucked up all the information he was being given in quite a fast manor. To him it looked like nothing at first. Numbers upon numbers from one to twenty six in random sequences, each a different length and, whatever the boys were trying to achieve, Thomas could tell they were grasping at straws.

Minho showed him a pile of A4 sheets of paper, covered in random, uneven, wonky lines made in thick black marker. When asked what they meant, he answered with a hesitant and audibly sorry “dunno”.

“Any new ones?” Gally asked casually, not even looking up.

“No just the same twenty six,” Minho dismissed, placing the pile pack into a large book that they apparently used for storing their notes. _WCKD_ it said in the bottom right corner of the title page. _Of course._

Thomas took the pages back out and found them to be numbered. _Twenty six. Why were they twenty six?_

“Did you draw these?” he knew the question was stupid. How could he not know what they were, if he’d made them? The creator of this place might be a dramatically evil son of a bitch, but Thomas was sure they couldn’t be supernatural.

“God, no, they were given to us when we cracked a puzzle. Every day for almost a month. And then one day they just stopped,” he shrugged, but not as if he didn’t care, more just utterly helplessly, “no explanation whatsoever.”

Thomas examined the papers as the three other examined the small wooden box. It didn’t look like it can be opened. It was sealed shot, but something inside rattled when you shook it and it left them all confused.

Everything about this was new territory to Thomas. He had no idea how he could help and flipping between the odd pages definitely wasn’t it. He just wanted to grab Newt by the hand and pull him away, his selfishness taking over just as Newt’s seemed to have disappeared. _He looks so cute when focused._

“How do they know we’ve solved it?” Thomas wondered, looking around the room for cameras just as he had on his first night in the house.

“They just do. They see us at all times,” Gally said sharply.

“All times?” Thomas blurted out without thinking, making Newt giggle, Gally’s cheeks redden angrily and Minho watch the three curiously. “So how did it get here?” he pointed to the box.

“How does anything get here?” Minho’s voice seemed more and more drained with each word he spoke, “during the curfew, probably.”

“The curfew? What cerfew?” no one had warned him about such a thing and on his first night he just leapt off, wondering through the house.

“You know, hoe no one can leave their rooms at night. Didn’t I mention it to you?” Newt looked up to him casually.

_They saw me. They punished me. They killed Ben because of me._

“Tommy, you ok?” Newt observed him worriedly.

“Uh huh,” he tried to sound as natural as possible. He should tell Newt. He wanted to. But he had no intention of letting Gally hear his confession and have a reason to hate him even more, or Minho who was poisoned because of him, his face obviously getting paler by the second, though no one wanted to admit something was wrong, least of all Minho himself. _Maybe hide it from Newt, too? After all,_ _this might make him hate me and there is no way in hell I’ll have Newt hate me. No, this is all on me. I killed Ben. I’ll live with the guilt. Alone_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I'm posting on Thursdays now. I have some free time coming up, so I'll try to write more and post more often (probably won't tho cuz I haven't slept in a month)   
> Anyways thanks for reading, thanks for enjoying, most of all - thanks for shipping Newtmas, God knows everyone should.


	8. A Newbie

He ignored the pang of guilt in his chest as Newt looked at him unsurely, turning around and pretending to go examine the insane amount of books upon the shelves. There seemed to be every kind of book you could imagine – romances, novels, storybooks, travel books, cookbooks, encyclopedias – everything.

Wandering upon the shelves brought something back to him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It felt incredibly familiar, as if he’d been here before, only it wasn’t the place itself, it was the smell of old books, covered in dust, knowledge and memories that awakened something in him and he saw a flash of a memory – _running through long corridors of books, laughing and reminding each other to be quiet, a newfound sense of freedom, disregard for authority and complete and utter love for the owner of the honey-colored hair, turning a corner just in front of him._

Thomas suddenly felt a feeling of recollection tug at him as he leaned back to look behind a shelf he was currently browsing to confirm the theory he had – the honey blond hair matched perfectly with Newt’s. A worriless smile involuntarily returned to his lips, only growing as the older boy looked back at him as if sensing he was being watched, so Thomas, avoiding blushing in front of Newt, turned back to scanning over the books on the bookcase.

He had reached the letter G when something stood out. He was sure he would have never noticed it if he hadn’t been examining the contents of the library so closely. Five books looked like they’d been misplaced. It made no sense to Thomas as the rest of the library was in perfect alphabetical order. It seemed fine up until “Gone with the Wind”, that was followed by “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”, “Zorro”, “Dracula”, “Hamlet” and “A Clockwork Orange”, only to continue with names that begin with G again.

Thomas furrowed his brows in confusion. _Why would someone put these random books in the wrong place?_ He instinctively looked around, hoping to see cameras, to check with them if they’d put these titles here for Thomas to find or if it was only something that had been half-assedly placed back during Minho and Alby’s daily search for answers and he was just being paranoid.

He decided to shake it off. It was probably nothing. It didn’t mean anything, _right?_ But for the rest of the day, even whilst sitting on the floor, skimming through an old book on Chinese puzzles, which that of the day must be, he assumed, he couldn’t stop thinking about the five random books. It seemed stupid to focus on something so small when they had a much more burning problem to solve at the moment.

“What’ve you got there?” a low, slightly tired voice whispered in his ear, the warm breath sending shivers down his spine as he already knew who its owner was.

He had no clue how long he’d been sitting there already, hunched against the shelves. “Something I hoped would be helpful,” he sighed, leaning his head backwards until it rested on the taller boy’s shoulder, “don’t think it is, though.”

“Show me?” Newt offered, already reaching for the book, as Thomas sat back up straight and dragged his fingers through his hair. He examined the page Thomas had already opened, then flipped through a couple of pages, reading those as well. “Actually,” he drew his eyebrows together and got up quickly from his kneeled position next to Thomas, practically running over to Minho and Gally.

Thomas got up at the muffled “guys, look,” from the other side of the room, rushing over to them to see what Newt had found, “is it anything good?” he asked on his way.

”Holy shit, hold on,” Gally gasped, throwing the book in Minho’s lap and the Asian boy coughed for probably the thousandth time that day, turning it around and looking at the page carefully, occasionally glancing at the box and tilting his head.

Thomas didn’t dare do anything but watch from afar as Gally dealt with the box, kneeled over it in a way that Thomas was barely able to see it, until they heard a click and Gally looked up at Newt who was standing next to him, arms crossed, chewing on his fingernail.

“Did that do it?” Newt asked.

“Well, it’s either that or something’s gonna blow,” Gally shrugged, opening the box with a winced face, and Thomas felt a strong urge to go stand in front of Newt to protect him from the blast if there was to be one.

The stillness of the room made the empty box seem extra anti-climactic and everyone sighed in relief.

“Is that it then?” Newt seemed disappointed. Thomas noted how no one praised him for finding that book, but was secretly glad as he didn’t feel like watching Gally roll his eyes.

“Yeah,” Minho sighed, “there’s never anything. Not since the month you got here and we got those,” he pointed to the pile of random lined paged Thomas had examined earlier.

“Wait, what?” Thomas and Newt asked in unison and Gally, although silent, looked equally confused.

“Oh, yeah, Alby didn’t think we should tell you,” Minho groaned in pain as he sat up straighter, “but those started coming in when you got here,” he nodded his head to Newt and then looked at him questioningly.

“It must be a map then,” Thomas found himself wondering out lout.

“What are you talking about?” The Eyebrows furrowed his eyebrows.

“It looks like one, yeah, but we haven’t decoded it yet. Kinda just looks like a maze,” Minho admitted.

“What if someone was trying to get you out?” Gally’s voice sounded accusing, but also slightly hurt, as if asking why he couldn’t have been the one someone’s trying to save.

Thomas couldn’t help but wonder who’d try to help Newt. It must have been dangerous to even attempt to, maybe his family worked for The Creators. Maybe there was hope for them yet.

“Right, well, lunchtime,” Gally rubbed his hands together and left, leaving Newt and Thomas behind to help Minho get up. He now looked considerably worse than in the morning, barely standing his ground, depending very much on the two boys’ grip on his waist,  so it didn’t take them long to decide to take The riddle solver upstairs, checking on Alby on their way.

“Hello, boys,” Alby was obviously trying to seem chirpier than he was, because he looked like absolute shit.

Knowing that acknowledging his pitiful state would do no good for either of them, Newt and Thomas just smiled at him and placed Minho next to him in the bed, adding, “rest, we’ll get you some food.”

“Shouldn’t they be better by now?” Thomas asked once they were out of the room and heading downstairs for the dining room.

“I have no clue, Tommy,” The Blond said regretfully, “if that really is a map, then we need to get out of here as fast as possible. We need to get them some help.”

“Good that,” Thomas sighed as they stepped off the last step on the staircase.

“Tommy,” Newt grabbed his hand, stopping him in his tracks. He hesitated for a while before glancing down to his feet and then back up again, “I know you. Somehow. I know you’ll do everything to get us out of here, but I beg of you, please don’t get yourself killed. Please.”

Thomas didn’t know what to answer. All he could think about since getting here has been keeping Newt safe, he hadn’t thought for a second that Newt might just feel the exact same way about him. “I won’t,” he assured, “I swear.”

But it didn’t seem to satisfy the older boy as he pulled an unsure, worried face and leaned in to kiss Thomas’ lips, taking The Brunet by surprise and making him gingerly grab for Newt’s waist.

“Right, lunch,” The Blond pulled apart suddenly, turning and going to the dining room with a skip in his step, leaving Thomas puzzled and dazed.

“’Aight,” he shrugged and went to find some lunch for the two sickos upstairs.

“Finally,” Gally said, taking a sip of water, “now that you’ve joined us and we’re all here…”

“Alby and Minho are upstairs, though,” Newt Pointed out, taking a bit of everything and placing it on two plates.

“Fine,” Gally grinded his teeth, “anyway, we should probably tell you we’re getting a newbie tonight so you don’t freak out and go all bonkers like you did the first night here,” he rolled his eyes.

“Excuse me for having a human reaction to being locked up in a murder house,” Thomas sniggered, ignoring the burning questions about the newbie.

“Whoever he is,” Gally continued a bit louder now, “we’ll probably need to calm him down. Just like all of you,” he added the last part in a murmur, but loudly enough for us all to hear.

“Not everyone has the emotional range of a teaspoon, Albs,” Chuck giggled.

“Shut up, shuckface” he rolled his eyes again, but this time more playfully and Thomas wondered whether all it took to be liked by Alby was to be younger and more vulnerable than the rest.

“We’ll be fine whoever the newbie is,” Newt said through huge bites of baked potatoes, “we were up until now, what’s changed?”

Thomas knew asking that was a mistake and Newt should probably have kept it to himself, so the second he saw Gally’s eyebrows shoot up challengingly, he grabbed the two plates and rushed out of the room to not be caught in the middle of a screaming match about whether he’s guilty of something or not, because he _did_ feel the guilt and it was eating him up inside.

Upon walking into Alby’s bedroom Thomas found the two boys asleep, leaned against each other, and laughed to himself, making a mental remark of teasing them of it when they get better. He tiptoed further in and left the plated on both bedside tables for them to eat when they wake up. Trying to be as silent as possible, not knowing how deep their sleep was, he got more blankets from Alby’s closet and covered their legs carefully.

“Hey,” someone said powerlessly as he turned to leave the room, his stomach growling in hunger, “thanks, bro,” Minho whispered and coughed.

“It’s ok, I just want you two to feel less shit,” he smiled, “cause you sure look shit.”

“Figures,” Minho managed to make out before falling back asleep.

Gally had left the table when Thomas returned and he sighed in relief, knowing he could get a decent meal in peace for once. The happy trance of the morning was long gone and he hated himself for it, as all he wanted was to hang out in the conservatory with Newt and a bottle of wine. _Was that so much to ask?_

”I was going to read a book,” Newt said, disturbing the silence, “but seeing I’ve got you to keep me company now, I’m thinking maybe lay off that hobby.”

“You? Lay off reading? Sure, that seems plausible,” Thomas took a sip of his water before shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth.

“Excuse you,” Newt laughed, “I can, too.”

“Babe, your floor is covered in books, you can barely get to your bed,” Thomas snorted, realizing he’d called his …boyfriend?... _babe_ too late.

The Blond looked up to his face and looked at him in awe. He obviously hadn’t taken offense in the word, which calmed Thomas down immediately.

“Speaking of my room,” the sparkle in Newt’s eyes hadn’t left and he got up, stretching his hand out for Thomas, saying enough to imply all he obviously wanted it to.

A loud slam of a door rang throughout the house, stopping Newt mid-sentence. It didn’t sound like one of the wooden doors of the house, yet Thomas recognized the sound. It was familiar, but he couldn’t remember why. Like a word on the top of your tongue that you’re just about to remember.

Newt, on the other hand, _did_ know where to turn and judging by Gally and Chuck appearing from their bedrooms they seemed to know what it meant as well.

And then it hit him. It was _the_ door. The first door Thomas could remember seeing. The front door of the house. The solid steel auto lock door that separated the house from the pitch black tunnel leading to it. And it meant only one thing…

“The newbie?” Newt asked, sounding confused as hell, voicing Thomas’ suspicion.

“Bit early,” Chuck stated what everyone was already thinking.

Even Minho and Alby had managed to get out of bed to find out what was happening. The suspense seemed comically annoying, until finally the large wooden door of the great hall opened, revealing a tiny frame of a wavy-haired girl with the most beautiful bright blue eyes.

She looked around the room as if scanning, looking to Chuck, then Gally, then Minho and Alby, past Newt and finally landing on Thomas.

“Tom!” she exclaimed in a sugary sweet, but desperate voice, rushing over to him and crushing him in a surprisingly tight bear hug.

To say Thomas was confused would be the understatement of the century. Not only did the girl know his name, she seemed to remember. She also seemed to be here exactly for him. And Thomas assumed he was supposed to know her, as her embrace was full of worry. But he had no idea who she was. If she was his girlfriend or sister. If he knew her at all. He must have, _right?_

He just stood there, unable to move, scared to hug her back, since he had no idea who she was. All he knew was that Newt’s hand still hadn’t left his as he stood there, frozen in spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I failed at writing more, but at least I got some sleep :D  
> Thanks once again to everyone who reads this, it's really cool that you guys enjoy the story.  
> Got some big things planned, so stay tuned!


	9. Maps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally get some backstory and our smart cookies figure out something BIG.

The silence around them was full of confusion and tension. Thomas hated it and, honestly, it kind of scared him a bit. He felt Newt step closer to him protectively after a few seconds of not hugging the girl back as if his lack of response to her embrace told Newt that Thomas didn’t know her and had no intention of returning her sentiments.

Everyone seemed to be frozen in spot and looked as shaken as Thomas felt. Her grip on him didn’t loosen for a while and he decided on trying to pull away. She jumped back, “of course, I’m sorry, you…” she looked sad, “…really don’t remember me, do you?”

“No, sorry,” Thomas shrugged, feeling uncomfortable as he was pretty sure the girl’s eyes had tears in them.

“I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t watch you do this to yourself,” she stroked his cheek and he felt too sorry for her to avoid her touch, “you look tired.”

“Murder houses can do that to a person,” he mumbled, “what do you mean _watch me do this to myself_?”

“Right, I should probably tell you everything, but,” she looked around nervously, stopping her gaze in random places on the walls as if looking into cameras. _Was she looking into the cameras?_ “I have to be quick, there’s no time, they could discover I’ve come here any moment,” she looked over to Newt which, Thomas was pretty sure, was staring daggers into the girl, “I’m glad you’re ok,” her smile was sweet and sincere and Newt’s grip on Thomas’ hand loosened to a more comfortable painless one.

 _They,_ Thomas heard in his head as Theresa looked around the hall onto the others. She was still smiling as if seeing old friends again. _Who’s they?_ It repeated as Theresa headed for the dining room and looked back, implying they should all follow.

“What the hell is going on?” Gally’s eyebrows were extra arched as he was obviously scared and curious, his voice harsh.

“Calm down, Gally,” she said nicely, making the boy speechless since he hadn’t expected her to know his name, “we really have to be quick, there’s a lot to figure out. I don’t know everything.”

“I’m Theresa. You all know me. Or…you knew me, I guess. But that’s ok, we’ll get you out of here, there is a serum that can help with the memories back in The Facility,” her words made Thomas thirsty for information, he ached to ask questions, but he hesitated, hoping she explains, “there is a reason each of you is here and I’m so sorry you are, there’s no reason for you to be. Truly. You were all my friends back up there,” she nodded her head upwards, “none of you did anything wrong. We were all fighting for the right cause. We were all rebelling. Some of us just…” she looked over to Gally and Alby, “louder than others,” her smile was bittersweet as the two boys looked over to each other in question.

“What exactly are we doing here? Is this a punishment?” Minho’s voice suddenly sounded almost healthy, but upon looking at him Thomas found he still looked like absolute shit, “What’s going on up there?”

The answer Theresa gave them was simple, but devastating. It was the one thing Thomas hadn’t expected to hear and it made him scared. “War,” she’d said, “and I’m afraid you’re to blame,” she looked down to her hands and no one really understood which of the boys she was saying it to, “I’m sorry, Thomas.”

“Of course,” Gally sneared, “of fucking course you are.”

“Shut up and sit down,” Theresa’s tone had turned strict, “your hero complex won’t do anyone any good. You might hate him right now, but he’s your friend. Remember that, please, all of you. Because what I’m about to tell you won’t exactly make you love him any more.”

Thomas was properly terrified now. What the hell could’ve he done that was so terrible? He couldn’t possible have started a war, _could he_?

“Your name is Thomas Jansen. Your father is Daniel Jansen. He’s wealthy as hell and one day he just, sorta, changed everything. The insane amount of power he held over everyone in the government let him do literally whatever he wanted. So he made an army and started a revolution. He was seen as a hero, until it became apparent his intentions weren’t all that pure. No one liked the people in charge before, sure, but at least they weren’t trying to get rid of the poor or make the streets cleaner by sentencing people to death for the smallest of crimes. He turned into a dictator and as long as you were in the higher classes you were fine. The same couldn’t be said for the common people,” she took a deep breath before continuing, “let’s just say he had his own views on how to resolve overpopulation and hunger. And everyone who opposed was sentenced to fight for their lives in a game made by his dear son.”

Now that grabbed their attention. Their heads snapped to Thomas and he himself was scared to look at anyone but the girl. Least of all – Newt. “I created this place?”

“You did,” she said regretfully after a moment of hesitation, but Thomas refused to believe it. He got up and started pacing the room like on his first night there. The anxiety was back and just the second he realized Newt probably hates him and won’t ever talk to him again, the blond’s hand was on his cheek, the other holding him close, whispers of comfort barely reaching his consciousness. “Sit down,” his boyfriend pleaded after a while, “just sit.”

Complying, he pulled his chair back, but was too afraid to actually sit at the same table as the people he’d practically tried to murder. Ex-friends or not.

“But you didn’t know, Thomas. You were told to make a game. Like a trial for the people who work for your dad. He created the punishments. The moment you realized what this was you tried to shut it down, but he wouldn’t let you. He…”

“Locked you up,” Newt looked as if he’d just had a revelation. His eyes were darting on confusion, “I remember that. You were angry at him, he hated the disobedience and he literally locked you away.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Alby asked.

Thomas looked over to Theresa for confirmation and she nodded. She didn’t even seem confused at Newt’s sudden memory gain.

“I don’t know,” Newt shook his head, “but he put you guys in here because you disagreed to his way of leading. You disagreed loudly. You organized protests, and got yourselves here, but you didn’t lead them. You had a… a… a superior.”

“Your mom, Chuck. Your parents did everything in their power to stop Jansen. So he killed them the day he found out. Cold blooded. You tried to kill him for that. No one had ever attempted it. No one had gotten near enough to him. But you were caught and put in here for disregard for authority,” she looked at Chuck proudly before turning sad again and looking at Thomas, “You didn’t even find out he’d put Minho, Alby and Gally in here until you promised to help in his grand plan and he let you out. You fell apart. And the only person who could get you out of all of that sorrow was Newt. He pulled you out. You actually seemed fine for a while. I was so happy for you. We were going to do everything to get these guys out, but when he put newt in here you were a mess again. Working day and night to get him out. I have no idea what you were doing for a whole month. No one even knew you were there except for me. You never slept, so it couldn’t have been just the goddamn puzzles.”

 _A month. A month. A month._ This was all far too much to take in. Thomas would’ve been sick if he wasn’t thinking far too hard to focus on the strength of his stomach. _A month…_

“The maps,” Thomas whispered, shot up and ran to the library, “you said these appeared the day Newt did, right? Twenty six maps. It was me. I was trying to get you out,” he looked to Newt before rapidly laying the maps on the floor. “This has to have something to do with escaping.”

“Well, come on then,” Gally nodded, there was no audible hatred in his voice, which Thomas found to be weird as he’d just found out Thomas was the reason he’s here, “You thought of that shit. You can encode it. Do it, so we can kick your dad’s ass.”

“Yeah, Newt got his memory back, so can you. Think!” Alby commanded strictly, impossibly excited, taking in account the sick state he was in.

“I don’t know. I don’t- I don’t know,” Thomas admitted, “was there anything that seemed out of place? That could help?” he asked Theresa. “Was there something that was just for us?” he demanded Newt desperately, the desire to undo the damage he’d started burning in his core, the guilt painful and unbearable. He’d killed Ben. He’d tried to kill the rest of them, too, “anything?”

Newt looked almost scared of him until something I his eyes changed and he came closer, “you’re so luck you have me,” he smirked and walked to the book case with all the books beginning with G. “There was this one book you loved that I read to you. I thought it was cheesy, but you absolutely adored it,” he scanned through the shelf, pulling out “Gone with the Wind”, leaving some free space for the following books to lean onto each other. It was the random ones Thomas had found earlier.

As Newt skimmed through the pages, trying to find a note or anything, Thomas watched the books. The random wrongly-placed books in the compulsively perfect Library. The totally unconnected titles. They weren’t here by accident. There was no way.

“The alphabet,” Thomas stated. The confused looks shared amongst the group made him look at them as if they were idiots, “these books aren’t here at random.”

“Oooooh,” Minho smacked his own forehead with his palm, “twenty six.”

“Yes!” Thomas snapped his fingers and pointed at the Asian boy. Gally, Theresa and Chuck just stood there in silence, trying to figure out what exactly was happening.

Alby had already rushed away to bring the pile of paper sheets and started laying them out, “What are the letters?”

“Uh, G is first, I guess,” Thomas bent down next to Alby.

“That’s the seventh letter of the alphabet,” Newt seemed to finally be in on the whole thing and Alby pulled out the seventh map.

“O’s next,” Thomas continued.

“Uh, that’s fifteen,” Newt nodded.

“Z.”

“Last one – twenty six.”

“D.”

“Four.”

“H.”

“Oh, uh, eight?” Newt looked to Minho for affirmation.

“Yes. And C – three,” Minho said impatiently. Thomas could see _7 15 26 4 8 3_ already written on Minho’s arm.

Alby put the six maps next to each other. They formed a connected line with others springing out of it. It finally looked like a map. And it had a beginning and an ending. Thomas had encrypted his own code as if he knew he could resolve it. They could get out. Today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi! I'm a day late, I'm sorry, I know, I suck. I had a bit of a mental breakdown yesterday and couldn't write, but I'm back and this story is slowly coming to an end. Sooooo let me know if you'd like a part two, cause I've got one in mind already (woop woop). Anyways, enjoy and as always thanks for the support, love y'all!


	10. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang escape the house. Or do they?

Thomas had to excuse himself to go change in order to hide the panic attack that was creeping onto him. The tears blurred his way up the stairs and he was pretty sure no one had noticed him leave as Theresa was telling them how to get out. She was answering the question Thomas had asked on his first night here – _how does the food het here?_ But he couldn’t care less. He also wanted to know more than anything else in the world.

He closed his door as silently as possible and sat on his bed. It was quiet. Completely quiet. Something he hadn’t heard since he was waiting for Ben to be killed. Killed because of him. His eyes rolled back in a desperate attempt to hide a loud sob that was bound to break out any second now.

He didn’t hear the knocking on the door as he’d rolled into a ball of self-pity and grief. The guilt was eating him up inside and the worried hands that wrapped around him did nothing to help, although he did appreciate the gesture. The grip was tight, on the verge of painful, but not quite. It managed to calm him down, at least physically, the words of comfort – barely helping with his mental state.

 _It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok_ rang through his head. He wasn’t sure if Newt was actually here or if he was imagining it. It was probably just in his head. Why would he have come after finding out what he just did? Thomas felt like a monster. A monster with a monster for a father. It ran in the blood. He was despicable, unlovable.

“Listen to me,” firm hands cupped his jaw, forcing him to look into the eyes of the speaker, “I’m getting you out of this hell. And then we’re running away. As far as possible. We’ll take Minho and ride off into the sunset,” there was an audible smile in the blond’s voice as Thomas refused to look at him, “that sound good?”

A gasp and a sob later Thomas managed to nod, being rewarded by the most protective embrace he was sure he’d ever received in his life.

“He won’t touch us,” Newt whispered, “not again.”

Thomas desperately wanted to ask what he meant by that, but words failed him completely and he didn’t trust his voice anyway.

“Not again,” Newt repeated and kissed Thomas with a salty and messy kiss that seemed to last forever. It was so pure and full of love the butterflies in Thomas’ stomach overpowered the painful feeling in remorse aching throughout his body.

 “Let’s leave, yeah?” Newt offered, pulling away and going over to Thomas’ closet to find him a new shirt. He’d apparently managed to stain this one with tears.

“How can you not hate me?” Thomas asked when Newt had taken his moist shirt off, pulling the new one over his head.

“What are you talking about?” Newt stopped immediately, looking bewildered as if accused for a crime he hadn’t committed.

“What Teresa said. I’d hate myself. I wouldn’t blame you if you did, too.”

“Tommy, look at me. I do not hate you. I never could,” Newt was choosing his words carefully, “I remember what happened. We’ll get back and you’ll remember, too, Teresa said there’s a serum for that. You never did anything wrong. I’m only here because your father is a homophobic piece of totalitarianism shit and you’re here because you wanted to save me. You’re my hero, Tommy.”

As cheesy as it was, it made Thomas smile. Or was he blushing?

“Jensen is an absolute idiot not to see it,” a kiss landed on Thomas’ forehead before he was pulled up from the bed he hoped he was seeing for the last time in his life.

The others were gathered in the dining room, Theresa was on the floor under the table, trying to scratch at the wood. Had anybody even noticed their absence? Suddenly she lifted the lid of what seemed to be an escape route, the herringbone pattern on the floor doing a great job of hiding it.

“No way,” Gally exclaimed, “this whole time it was right here?”

“Right under our noses,” Chuck looked disappointed, “can’t sucking believe it.”

Minho and Alby were sitting at the table silently, looking as if they’re about to fall asleep. There was no doubt in Thomas’ mind – something in the smoke was sketchier than they thought. It had poisoned the two boys, making them look almost a grey color, constantly tired and unwilling to speak.

Thomas could see steps leading down the hole in the dining room floor. He looked to the table to find the maps. He didn’t know the scale. There was no way of telling how long they’d have to walk once they go down the tunnel. He didn’t know if they were watching them now or if they’d already sent a special force of armed assassins to take them out before they even reach The Facility.

“Well, then,” Gally cleared his throat, “ladies first,” he nodded to the tunnel.

Theresa didn’t look like she was going to argue. She obviously understood the request. No one here knew her except maybe Newt, but God know how much of his memory he had back, but to everyone else she was just someone telling them to do something potentially lethal.

Helping Newt carry Minho, Thomas descended down the steps into the black void. Gally was single-handedly carrying Alby and Chuck was put in charge of the maps. Theresa had the one candle they’d dared to take. It seemed like a sewer, only cleaner. Dark brick walls decorated the morbid, damp walls that seemed to stretch on for miles, even though neither of them could actually see further than a couple of feet.

Thomas’ arms ached before they’d reached the first crossroads. If he remembered correctly there were eleven altogether. His neck was cramping when they reached the second one, his legs giving in by the third. Yet every time he felt like asking to stop for a quick break, he found another leftover of strength to keep walking, to keep supporting Minho as much as possible so that Newt would have it easier.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Teresa said suddenly. She’d been turning around every couple of minutes to check how they’d been doing and, unlike Thomas, she’d noticed Gally almost collapsing under Alby’s weight, “a break will only do you good,” her voice was strict as she saw Gally beginning to protest. Once he’d obliged and stopped, she ran up to him to help place Alby on the ground in a seated position, her gaze worried and her touch on Gally’s arm a bit too prolonged, making Thomas and Newt share a surprised, knowing look.

Chuck offered everyone water, taking a seat next to Alby and pouring some into the barely conscious boy’s mouth. “How much longer?” Newt asked.

“About three times more than what we’ve already done.”

“Brilliant,” the blond sounded sarcastic and out of breath.

“Hey, Teresa,” Thomas disturbed the girl from staring into an empty point on the wall, “how come Newt can remember?”

“Oh,” she sighed as if having waited for this question all along, “well, we’ve seen this before when people tend to regain their memories after something shocking happens. To Newt that was either me or the fact that you were the one that designed his own personal hell,” she sounded tired and didn’t seem to care about anyone’s feeling anymore, Thomas related to her sentiments, “sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” but Thomas didn’t care, everything was said and done, everyone knew. He was just so tired, he wished he could fall asleep right there.

The darkness in the distance became darker, the candle didn’t really matter. Everything was blurry and Thomas was just so tired. He felt a weight drop onto his shoulder and he looked down to see the blond head of Newt’s resting on his shoulder. Theresa was drifting off too, Gally was blinking heavily, trying his hardest not to give in.

_What is thi-_

Thomas couldn’t even manage to finish his thought when he absently heard several pairs of footsteps running towards them and his consciousness was gone in a moment of extreme exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Posting on time? Well I'll be damned.   
> Hi, This thing is nearing its end and I'd just like to thank (yet again) everyone who reads this. And also thank you for the support and the amazing feedback. It is all greatly appreciated, especially since this is my first proper fic. Thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuuu sm!


	11. Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeere's Janson

Coming back to consciousness was inexplicably difficult for Thomas. His head felt like it had been bashed in, the pain alone making it hard for him to think straight and under the bright light shining in his face he felt almost paralyzed, unable to focus on freaking out about his whereabouts.

The loud buzzing and ringing in his ears tuned out everything else, only leaving a muffled voice he registered as unfamiliar. “Welcome home, Thomas,” it said, sounding as if he was under water.

Blinking became inevitable, as horrid and painful as it was. His first instinct when he’d regained the ability to think was to touch his head too check if it’s fine, but there wasn’t a specific place that ached, his head just felt like a ticking bomb, bound to explode any moment.

“Thomas, can you hear me?” the voice questioned, making Thomas’ curiosity get the best of him. He looked to find the source of the voice and found a face he couldn’t quite read. It was hard to tell whether the man was kind or angry, or just curious. There was a mix of everything in his gaze.

Having gotten used to the dulling pain (or maybe it had just lessened), Thomas sat up in the bed he was laid upon and examined his surroundings. Was he in a hospital? Was he dead? Everything around him was white and obnoxiously bright and still blurry from the half-awake state he was in, but the face watching him was no angel, that was for sure. “Who are you?”

The man laughed, sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning his elbows onto his knees. He looked comfortable and weirdly cool in his turtleneck, but there was something unsettling about his smile. “I already though this might have happened,” the man chuckled, “but you know me very well, Thomas, my name is Daniel. I’m your-“

“Father,” Thomas interrupted what was surely going to be very convincing friendly propaganda of a monologue, “I’m aware,” the hatred towards the man was undoubtedly audible in his voice even if he hadn’t yet started feeling it.

“How are you feeling?” the man’s smile never faltered.

Thomas ignored the question, nervously sitting up and looking around the room. It was large and quite long-spread. There were more hospital beds lining the walls next to his own, only they were all empty. He’d expected his friends to be on them, but they were nowhere to be seen.

“They’re fine,” Janson promised as if having read his son’s mind, placing his hand on Thomas’ shoulder and pushing back down from the half-standing pose he’d taken, “you’re just in the staff wing.”

“I’m not staff,” Thomas groaned bitterly, but Janson just smiled and looked down, telling Thomas he just needs to get some rest.

For some reason it made Thomas angry. As if his father should’ve known he wanted to be with his friends, to know they’re safe. As if he should’ve known putting him here alone would make him even more worried about them.

He wanted nothing but to get out of this room, this facility, whatever it was. He wanted to find Minho and Teresa. He needed to find Newt. So he batted away Janson's hands as they tried to push him back down and got up from the bed.

“Thomas get back to bed. You need to be taken care of.”

“By you? Never,” he hissed.

“You’re here because you’re my priority, Thomas,” Janson alleged.

“I don’t want to be. I don’t want anything to do with your stupid power play. I’m getting my friends and leaving,” he announced, understanding perfectly how absolutely insane and childish the sounded.

“You can go, but it’s a literal war zone out there,” Janson confirmed his suspicions.

“I don’t care,” Thomas crowed, already having reached the door to find it passcode protected, “I’m not being held responsible for any of this.”

The door didn’t budge despite Thomas’ best efforts and he wondered why the staff hospital wing needed to be under such serious security.

“But you are,” Janson's smile looked almost poisonous, “you created this place, Thomas. You are the puppet master.”

The panel on the wall requested a code in order for the door to unlock and he knew his father wouldn’t give it to him.

“No!” he protested, desperately trying to find the right combination of numbers to suit the door, “I didn’t even know what I was doing this for.”

In the angry, stressed mindset of his he somehow managed to remember the order in which he’d left Newt clues.

“I see Teresa’s gotten to you. How cute. She always did have a crush on you,” his smile was still plastered onto his face. It made Thomas sick. “You knew very well what you were doing. You love the power as much as I do,” he was audibly grinning now.

_7 15 26 4 8 3_

“Fuck you,” Thomas spat in disgust and left the room as the door burst open, leaving Jensen shocked.

Only while walking down the perfectly clean, grey hall he realized his legs felt almost numb and the only way he was moving was by remembering his to move his legs instead of actually feeling them. There were doors lining both sides of the hallway. There was no writing on them, he couldn’t tell what was behind them.

Everything was suspiciously quiet, the silence almost screaming at him, trying to say something. _Open the doors. Find them. Find them. Find them._

It was turn after turn after turn. He felt like he was in a maze and he didn’t even know where to look. All he knew was that he needed to get to Newt.

The hallways were giving him a sense of deja vu. As if his memories were on the verge of coming back, but not quite. Like a word you couldn't remember, but it's right on the tip of your tongue. He was sure he'd been here before, but he couldn't quite place himself here.

He reached a large hall, similar to the one back in the house, only more modern, as if he’d stepped into another century. There were people walking around, talking, discussing, being…human. Some of them were wearing lab coats, some were dressed as the military. Most of them were carrying guns. No one found his presence strange but he found it oddly unsettling how normal everyone seemed. These were people in their natural habitat. They were at work. This was their routine and it made him terrified. All these people, working for his father.

He couldn’t imagine war outside these walls. He couldn’t imagine people being killed and tortured when everyone around him was calm.

He turned to his left to find several huge screens, each showing something else, all of them showing News. Two of them had news anchors talking, looking stressed and scared, though he couldn’t hear what they were saying as all of the screens had been muted. There was a live coverage from a helicopter on another one, showing what he recognized to be New York, torn apart, damaged, a shell of what it used to be. _My father did this,_ he thought.

Disgust and hatred flowed back into his body, heating him up, fueling him with rage, mixing with fear he had of going out there, which he knew he’d have to do if he wanted to get away from his father.

“Thomas! Welcome back,” someone patted his shoulder, disturbing his mental tantrum. It was a lanky, skinny kid about his age, “I honestly thought you’d never come out of there, I mean, you looked so cozy, if you know what I’m saying,” he laughed and leaned in closer, “I’m glad she got you out. We were all in on it, but don’t tell your dad.”

“Uh, okay,” he said hesitantly. This boy obviously knew him, but Thomas didn’t remember him, “listen, dude, where are they?” he asked impatiently.

The other boy’s face fell, obviously having realized Thomas doesn’t remember anything, but he regained himself quickly, “Yeah, come on. I’m Aris, in case you don’t remember.”

“Thanks. Sorry, man.”

“They were pretty out of it. Your boyfriend seemed a bit feisty, but they put him down,” he rambled on while leading Thomas down another corridor. It seemed like they'd been friends and it made Thomas calm down since this guys legitimately seemed like a good person, clearing the doubts Thomas had had after talking to Janson. “Oh, don’t worry, though, they’re all fine.”

“Did my dad try to hurt him?” Thomas asked before thinking. Why would he ask that? Why would his father hurt Newt? And then it hit him. That was why he'd put him in the house in the first place. _Them_.

“Uh, no? He’s been next to you ever since you guys got here,” the boy swiftly turned, obviously knowing his way around here pretty well. _Next to you ever since you got here. Next to you. This whole time._ Thomas couldn’t make out if the man was a psychopath or if he actually loved him in some twisted way.

“How long was I out?” Thomas felt curious as his clothes were the same he’d had on before leaving.

“Couple of hours,” the boy shrugged, “you weren’t in a coma for a year, if that’s what you’re asking,” he snorted a laugh.

“Are they okay, though?” the thought of Newt reaching his mind once again.

“See for yourself,” the boy smiled and opened a large set of doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. I'm ending it on a cliffhanger like you know I love to do. 
> 
> PART 2 COMING SOON but I might take a break for a while until I graduate fo sho.
> 
> Thanks for reading, thanks for the lovely comments, thanks for being awesome annnnnnnd stay tuned, I guess.


End file.
